


Second Chances

by Mechanicalism



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Brotherhood of Steel (Fallout), Budding Love, Commonwealth Minutemen (Fallout 4), Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Loss of Identity, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Blind Betrayal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27972542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mechanicalism/pseuds/Mechanicalism
Summary: Post Blind Betrayal - Danse, now former Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel, had his entire identity ripped from him in just a few hours; everything he thought he knew of himself was a lie. As he attempts to come to grips with his new reality, one man helps keep his head above water. Calvin, vault dweller, Knight, and leader of the Minutemen, may be the only person who can give him purpose once again.*NOT ABANDONED* Just stuck on another fic idea at the moment. This'll be back soon!
Relationships: Paladin Danse/Male Sole Survivor, Paladin Danse/Sole Survivor (Fallout)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. This Place Is A Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first bit of writing I've done in almost a decade, and I hope I do alright with it, though admittedly I'm winging it a bit because that's just how I am. Updates may be sporadic as I get into the groove of writing again, so apologies ahead of time. Rating may change should I brave attempting my first adult scene.

It had been a little over a week since the metaphorical bomb dropped. Danse was a synth, abandoned by the one place he had ever called home. His brothers and sisters all assumed he was dead, which as heartbreaking as it was, he knew it was for the best. He didn’t think he had it in him to fight against the very people that had made up his life for so long.

There was one person who decided to stick with him, no matter how many times Danse insisted he return to the Brotherhood, not to give up his rapidly rising position in rank, especially for a synth, and that was Calvin. Calvin, the one whom Maxson had sent to kill him, the one who outright disobeyed the order, and the one who hadn’t reported back to the Prydwen since.

“I can’t continue to support a group that would execute one of their best, just because you have a damn chip in your head or whatever.” Calvin had said to him that fateful night, and try as he might, Danse couldn’t convince him otherwise. If nothing else, Calvin was stubborn – once he decided on something, very little could change his mind. That drive, that conviction, was something that allowed him to rise so fast in the Brotherhood ranks, yet at the same time, was what pushed him to leave. Calvin was lead by his own ideals, ones that no other person or organization could alter.

Danse wished he had that kind of confidence in himself, especially now. His life, at least what he assumed was his life, was Brotherhood. Their ideals were his, their goals were his, and without them, Danse felt lost in himself. It was as if the slate was wiped clean, and he no longer even knew who he was, just what he was.

That first week, he didn’t leave the bunker and Calvin stayed with him the entire time. Danse suspected part of the reason was Calvin feared he would take his life; Danse also suspected that was a genuine risk. He certainly didn’t trust himself to be alone, and yet he didn’t want the sacrifices Calvin had made on his behalf to be in vain.

They didn’t talk much during that time, but Calvin helped keep him grounded simply by being there, and Danse was thankful for that.

After that week, Calvin insisted they make the trip to Sanctuary, that the growing settlement’s constant projects would keep them both occupied. A proper bed that wasn’t a sleeping bag in a cold, damp bunker was also quite appealing, he had to admit. It took the better part of a day to get there, the sun was just starting to set by the time they crossed the bridge together.

Danse was in awe with how large the place had gotten since the first and only time he had been there many months ago. Many of the original crumbling houses had been demolished to their foundations, which sported numerous new dwellings, small shops, and even a little two story bar and communal kitchen towards the center of the settlement. Electricity had been run through the entire place, complete with working street lights and turrets spread across its borders, making it easy for the settlers to enjoy the nights in relative safety. He had heard Calvin talking about how well Sanctuary has doing, but this was well above his expectations.

Calvin noticed the shocked look to his face as they passed through the newly built gate and shot Danse a quick grin.

“Told you this place was coming along.”

“You did.” Danse nodded, “I just didn’t expect Sanctuary to have grown so quickly. You’ve done well here.”

“It wasn’t just me, not at all. Everyone’s working together to keep this place running. We’ve got supply lines from other settlements and caravans to keep us afloat, Sturges is a godsend around here keeping the place from falling apart, and hell, we have running water now thanks to him. Minutemen keep the place safe; haven’t had to worry about raiders in months.” He shrugged, and gazed out at the bustling little township. “Honestly, I don’t feel like I did much. It was all them.”

They continued into town, passing by the quaint little houses to the only two original houses still standing – Calvin’s old home was to one side of the street, standing empty and quiet, but he led them to the one across from it. Its living room and kitchen had been gutted and reworked into what looked like an office and meeting room, Minutemen flags hung from the walls to cover some of the broken windows. It looked good, Danse thought.

“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. Even if you didn’t build all of this by hand, you still inspired these people.” Danse’s eyes swept across the room and out the few uncovered windows. “People need to be inspired by something, and I believe things like this will help the Commonwealth slowly rebuild.”

Calvin huffed a short laugh, “Well don’t you know how to make a guy blush. Anyway, we got a few beds back here where we can crash. I don’t know about you, but that walk killed my feet!”

Danse couldn’t help but agree. He had chosen to leave his power armor behind and travel in nondescript clothes so as not to bring any unwanted attention should a vertibird fly over and notice their supposedly dead Paladin was still alive and kicking. Walking long distances without it was definitely more exhausting.

They parted in the hallway, Danse to the bedroom on the left, Calvin to the right. The rooms were simple, yet downright luxurious by wasteland standards – a modest bed with surprisingly clean sheets and blankets against the far wall, a footlocker at the end of it, dresser with a radio perched on top, and an actual functioning table lamp.

Danse slumped onto the bed, quickly pulling off his boots, dirt covered jeans and overshirt and sprawled out on his back, relishing finally being off his feet. He sighed, of course now that he was alone, his mind started replaying the events of the past few weeks. The look of absolute disgust and fury Maxson had given him when he emerged with Calvin from the bunker was seared into his mind. “Flesh is flesh, machine is machine.” he had spat at him. He was an abomination, everything he had been taught to hate.

He held his hands up, flexing them slowly open and closed. They felt real, _he_ felt real, but how much was actually him? How much was just programmed into his head? What about his past – was any of it even real? He had no idea where the false memories ended and his real ones began, no idea when the switch even happened.

Needless to say, he didn’t sleep much that night.


	2. Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse tries to keep himself busy, but nothing seems to clear his mind of his inner turmoil. Perhaps drowning his sorrows isn't such a bad idea after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title track for this chapter is Whiskey by Trampled By Turtles. Starting to get the hang of this writing thing, I think. Dialogue is still a new and tricky beast for me, but hopefully it's not too stilted.

Calvin was right – there was so much to do for the growing settlement. Whether it was repairing turrets, raising defensive walls, or breaking down scrap, they had little time to be idle. Today, Danse had found himself working along side Sturges to run plumbing to what would be the settlement’s future showers, one with actual hot water if they could get the salvaged water heater going again. He found keeping his hands busy helped, at least a little, to quiet his mind, though the low thrum of self-loathing was still a constant. Even so, he’d take any small respite he could.

At the end of the day though, his doubts and fears would rear up in full force, and this evening was no different. It was late, so he found himself alone in the little second floor bar nursing his third – or maybe fourth, he couldn’t remember – glass of whiskey. It was rare for him to drink, so he found his tolerance for it to be lower than he expected. Needless to say, he was well on his way to proper drunk territory. He was so caught up in his musings of his own drunkenness, Danse nearly fell off his stool in surprise when Calvin plopped down next to him, seemingly out of nowhere.

Calvin had a look of concern written on his face, as if he could read every pitiful thought swimming through Danse’s head. Danse looked away, shame heating his cheeks for letting someone see him in this state. The squeeze of a hand on his shoulder dragged his eyes back to the other man however, the simple act grounding him to the present, at least temporarily. That was just something Calvin was able to do to him without fail and it drew him in every time like a moth to a flame. Even before his exile, Danse found himself drawn to the man with the smart mouth, quick wit, and a smile that rarely reached his eyes. He’d never felt anything quite like it.

He was staring, he realized, and quickly averted his gaze back to his drink.

“How’re you holding up?” Calvin’s grip on his shoulder lingered, and Danse couldn’t help but focus on it. He’d never admit it to a soul, but he secretly savored those simple touches. They were something he rarely ever had prior to meeting his former charge, and he wished he could bottle up and keep the feelings it elicited forever. 

Danse eventually answered with a shrug, though not before polishing off his glass, “Keeping myself occupied has been beneficial, I believe. I’m doing well.”

Apparently, Danse was a terrible liar, as Calvin narrowed his eyes at him, seeing straight through him, though he said nothing right away. Danse didn’t know why he even bothered to lie, Calvin could seemingly spot it from a mile away from just about anyone.

“Alright, I admit I may not be as well as I said.” Danse sighed, giving up on his useless ruse.

“The half empty whiskey bottle kinda gave it away, y’know?” Calvin smirked at him. Had Danse actually drank that much? He looked at the bottle now in Calvin’s hand, and sure enough, at least half of the liquid within was gone. Without bothering with a glass, Calvin took a swig from the bottle, and poured Danse another glass. “Not judging. Everyone needs a night to let loose, and you got every reason in the world I’d say.”

Danse gave him a grateful, if weak, smile before tipping the amber liquid down his throat. It burned all the way down, hopefully searing away the edges of what he was feeling. Calvin took another casual gulp from the bottle along side him as they spent a few quiet moments together – the distant sound of the downstairs radio and the clink of glass meeting bottle the only things breaking the silence.

Eventually Danse found himself less sitting at the bar, and more leaning heavily on it. The bottle of rotgut sat empty between the two of them. He was almost knocked off balance when Calvin decided to flop unceremoniously against his side, throwing him a sloppy, obviously intoxicated grin. 

“I gotta thank you, man.” Calvin slurred, “You – you helped us do so much this week, you don’t even know!” Drunk or not, his smile was infectious, and Danse couldn’t help but let the corners of his mouth quirk up in response, and try to ignore the tight, fuzzy feeling in his chest that he wasn’t sure he could blame solely on the alcohol.

“Well, the promise of a hot shower does tend to motivate a person.” Danse spoke carefully, yet was unable to hide the slur to his own words. Calvin huffed a quiet laugh before they fell into another companionable silence. 

His head was feeling so heavy now, he barely noticed that it had been steadily tilting until his cheek was resting on the top of Calvin’s head. He chose not to move, and in his drunken state could admit to himself how nice it felt to be close to someone. From here, he could breathe in the scent of Calvin’s hair, and the tightness in his chest reappeared. This time, he didn’t ignore it. Maybe it was the booze, but he couldn’t deny it to himself – he was attracted to the man leaning against him. That fuzzy feeling he’d been having every time he looked at him, every time Calvin smiled at him, every time he bore his soul and all of its hopes and fears, every time they were together – no, this was more than simple attraction.

Danse was in love. And he wasn’t sure what to do with that fact.

The head beneath him stirred with a jaw cracking yawn. Calvin sat upright somewhat unsteady and scrubbed at his face. “C’mon, we don’t need to fall asleep at the bar.” He laughed as he swayed to his feet, and grabbed Danse by the hand to pull him up as well. “Come crash on my couch, I think you’d wake half the settlement stumblin’ through the main house.”

Danse only nodded and let him be pulled down the stairs and out into the crisp night air. That week they had finished up what was Calvin’s own home towards the back of the settlement. It was still sparsely decorated with not much else other than a bed, a couch, and a few Minutemen flags to cover the windows, but Calvin seemed happy to have a place of his own. Or at least one that didn’t remind him of what he’d lost.

The entire walk to Calvin’s little home, he never let go of Danse’s hand.

He finally let go almost reluctantly, Danse thought, once they were inside. Calvin pulled a spare pillow and blanket from the large bed he managed to convince a caravan to bring in and set to make up the couch as comfortable and neatly as drunk hands could. Danse thanked him profusely, kicked his shoes off, and was just about to lie down when Calvin caught him in a rib crushing hug, pinning his arms to his side.

“You’re awesome, y’know?” Calvin mumbled into his shirt.

“And you’re drunk.” He caught himself in an awkward, small laugh as Calvin released him.

“Yeah I know.” Calvin shrugged and puttered over to his bed, dropping unceremoniously onto it. “But you gotta hear it more often, ‘cause it’s true.” He uttered through another yawn.

Danse shook his head fondly before stretching out on the couch, “If you say so.” He looked over to find Calvin was already drifting off into a drunken sleep, “I suppose this is good night then.”

He never took his eyes of Calvin’s sleeping form, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest and how peaceful his face looked. Eventually he, too, fell asleep, to a fortunately calm and dreamless night – the first one he had since his exile. Maybe whiskey hadn’t been a bad idea, at least if he had someone to share it with.

**Author's Note:**

> FYI, my titles tend to be song names. In this chapter's case it's This Place Is A Shelter by Ólafur Arnalds, and the piece's title is from Second Chances by Gregory Alan Isakov.


End file.
